


A Tiny Flame to Cup

by AgentCoop



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Max Lobo, College, Come Eating, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Professor Glenreed, Rimming, Student Ash Lynx, Top Ash Lynx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18637834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop
Summary: “Max,” Ash drawled. This single syllable always felt so delightfully obscene. The softness of his lips forming the m, the press of his tongue against the roof of his mouth on the final ksss of sound. He’d never considered the way letters danced in his mouth until he’d taken this class, until he’d found that the only way through Latin was to understand the sound of the syllables so entirely that one dreamt in tonal shapes.





	A Tiny Flame to Cup

“Ash.”

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“Ash,” Shorter repeated, a longer thing now. A whine. “Give it up.”

Ash just smiled. “Naa,” he said. “Too much fun.”

Shorter threw up his hands in disgust and stuffed the photocopied packets of this weeks readings into his bag with an exuberant display of apathy. “Whatever. I’ll be back at the dorms. Friday night starts now.” He stepped out into the aisle and joined the massive press of students, swimming their way with fast, excitable strokes towards the exit of the lecture hall.

“Yep,” Ash replied, no longer paying him any mind. He was watching the base of the pitched floor, where a much smaller group of people gathered, asking questions, or berating the Latin professor for their curiously low marks on the most recent exam.

Ash’s exam was neatly filed in a green two-pocket folder with the word Latin scrawled heroically on the front. Ash’s exam bore the number 100, circled in a lethargic stroke of red. Ash had no questions, no complaints. He was lying in wait for another reason altogether.

He sat back down in his chair, and threw his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him; graceful and gangly—a sprawling teenager on the cusp of manhood.

It didn’t take long for the room to clear of college students. A few girls sniffled as they walked by him, clearly overwhelmed by the depths of their failure at the Latin language. A tall boy stood arguing with the professor, throwing his hands up and down in a fearless display of athleticism. It wasn’t much longer before he too gave up, and stomped past Ash with a sneer on his face. 

Then they were gone. The lecture hall lay almost empty now—heavy with the echoes of students and languid with vacancy. Ash drew his legs back, gathered his bag, then walked down the curved sets of stairs to the base stage, to where a single man stood, gathering papers and books. There was a single red pen tucked behind his ear, against the metal frames of his glasses, almost completely obscured by the tumble of light hair that brushed against the pen cap. 

“Max,” Ash drawled. This single syllable always felt so delightfully obscene. The softness of his lips forming the __m__ , the press of his tongue against the roof of his mouth on the final __ksss__ of sound. He’d never considered the way letters danced in his mouth until he’d taken this class, until he’d found that the only way through Latin was to understand the sound of the syllables so entirely that one dreamt in tonal shapes.

“Professor Glenreed,” Max said. He still hadn’t looked up beyond his stacks of papers.

“Max,” Ash said again, almost a whisper of sound.

Max looked up and pursed his lips. “Very well done on your exam, Mr. Callanreese. You have a talent for Latin.”

“I have a talent for many things,” Ash purred.

“Yes.” Max agreed. Then, with a quirk of his eyebrow, “and perilous impropriety frequently tops the list.”

Ash laughed. “Come on. There’s no way you talk like that outside of the classroom. It’s Friday. Let me buy you a drink?” He held out a hand as though waiting for a visceral response. 

Max just finished gathering the papers and then brushed by Ash. “Never going to happen, kid,” he called over his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t have to fight a bit,” Ash returned.

There was no answer and the door at the top of the hall swung closed with a thick __whump__ of sound.

***

The pub was a popular hangout for students, faculty members, and so called ‘townies’ alike. It advertised the best trivia nights of the town (false. Drunk college students were notoriously poor with a decent grasp of logical thinking,) and boasted the best fish and chips this side of the Potomac, (absolute truth. Ash had grown up in Cape Cod and knew how to tell the legitimacy of a proffered beer-battered piece of cod.) 

Still, he ended up here by default every Friday night, with Shorter and Shorter’s harem. (Ash supposed it wasn’t so much a harem as it was an obscenely large, ever-changing group of people who had one desire in life and that desire was to be fucked by a ridiculously good looking stoner with a purple mohawk.) It was generally a good time to watch people throw themselves at his best friend, and was even more of a good time to use the distraction to go after his own sort of prey. Ash had a penchant for older gentleman. This was the sort of lust that years of therapy would most likely blame on his questionable past, had he been the sort for years of therapy. Right now, in the present, he was perfectly content and psychologically unmarred by being sucked off by men decades older than himself, and as such, he figured it wasn’t _ _all__ bad. 

Currently, he was shoved into a booth, next to two, uproariously drunk college girls who were bemoaning their loss as a third drunk college boy straddled Shorter’s lap and licked up the side of his neck.

“I need another fucking drink,” Ash exclaimed, loud enough that the girls next to him flinched, then collapsed in an riotous puddle of giggles.

“Fuck,” Shorter said. The boy on top of him appeared to be chewing at his earlobe.

“I’m going to just assume you’d like another eventually as well,” Ash remarked. 

“Fuck,” Shorter said again, then he bent the boys head to the side and began sucking an enormously purple hickey into his neck.

“Try not to fuck him at the table,” Ash called, as he squeezed past the girls. “If we get kicked out of here for public indecency before I find someone to fuck, you owe me a blow job.”

“Anytime, bro,” Shorter said, and saluted past the boy who was now moaning wantonly and rocking back and forth on Shorter’s lap.

Ash made his way up to the bar, pushing past table actively attempting to participate in trivia, and weaving through the standing mobs. He reached the bar in short order, to a bartender who was clearly irritated and overwhelmed with the number of orders coming in, and so he leaned against the soft, polished wood, and proceeded to people watch.

It was early in the evening—only 11 pm—so most of the clientele was still sober enough to stand upright. This was, however, the hour that the older clientele began to shuffle out. On to houses with manicured lawns, back to wives who had no choice but stay at home, guarding the progeny of geniuses. This was the hour that his eyes narrowed, that he singled out someone, that he began his hunt for sex. There was something different about tonight though. Something that spoke of a curling mystery, a sparkle of newness. He couldn’t pinpoint it yet—right now it was just the fluttering dance of expectation in his stomach. 

And there.

Sitting at the end of the bar.

A slow grin spread across his face, and Ash moved.

“Max,” he said, sidling up to the bar, letting the name pool on the flushed wood.

Max jerked, then looked up at Ash. “Oh,” he said. “I…”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Ash said with a smile. “You being…full of propriety and all that.”

Max flushed, and looked back down to the almost empty heavy base glass in front of him. 

“What’ll you have?” The bartender asked, slapping a napkin down in front of Ash. 

“He’ll have another…whatever it was he was drinking,” Ash said. “And I’ll have a beer.”

Max shook his head and held up a hand. The bartender looked between them with an irritated flick of his eyes.

“It’s on me,” Ash declared.

Max grunted at this, and waved his hand almost imperceptibly at the bartender, who nodded and turned to pour the drinks. “Sure your parents are thrilled that you’re spending their hard-earned millions on bribing your professors.”

Something clawed at Ash’s throat, but he schooled his face against it. “Not a bribe,” he said. “Overture of friendship?”

“You’re my student, Mr. Callanreese.”

“Overture of drunken shenanigans that are meant to be forgotten?”

Max laughed at this. “Closer.”

The bartender pushed their drinks across to them and Ash slid a twenty and an ID across the wood of the bar. Then he turned, putting his back to the bar, and raised a leg, settling his foot on the bar of Max’s stool. “Interesting.” he said. Then he took a swallow of beer.

Max reached out and grabbed the ID again as the bartender handed it back. Looked at it for a moment, then handed it back. “So, Chris. What is it that you’re looking for this evening?”

Ash’s eyebrows raised, and he took another sip at his mug to hide his surprise. “It was that easy all along? Come at you with a different identity then student?”

Max shrugged. Downed his whiskey in one gulp, then slammed the glass back down on the bar. “I’m _ _just__ drunk enough right now that I’m willing to pretend this isn’t one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made in my life. Are we doing this or not, Ash?”

The way Max’s mouth closed over his name sent shivers running down his back. Ash clenched the mug in his hands a little tighter, a perilous warmth spreading up his neck. He took another sip, then gently placed the beer, unfinished, at the edge of the bar. “My place or yours?”

***

They settled on Max’s. 

Though Ash was living in a ridiculously swanky high-rise apartment overlooking the entire campus, because Ash had ridiculously swanky benefactors that he preferred not to think about, he still didn’t escape the college necessity of roommates.

Tonight was something more than his typical one-night-stand. Tonight sparkled with mischief and potential, and he didn’t particularly feel like answering any questions to questioning eyes when Professor Glenreed emerged from his bedroom at some odd hour of night.

And so they walked eight and a half blocks to Max’s apartment, giving them just enough time to sober up enough that this became a serious endeavor, rather than a late night mistake.

Max’s apartment was tiny—too small to even be considered cozy. It was a studio in the basement of a low-income apartment complex. The hallways reeked of smoke and stale cooking, and the door looked as though it had been kicked in once, repaired poorly, then kicked in again. Still, inside was pure, distilled Max. There were a couple of throw pillows on the sinking couch that were covered in a soft flannel. The entirety of the living room was surrounded by bookcases—some of Ikea construction, some of simple boards held up by cinderblocks. These were filled with books upon books upon books. Scientific journals. Old academic texts. Loose papers with Max’s telltale scrawl covering them from front to bottom.

It felt almost too personal—almost as though Ash had stepped into the very inhalation of the man and was now terrified that he might be breathed out. 

“Wow,” Ash said, trailing his fingers along a shelf that held Gaiman and LeGuin and Tolkein. “This is…” His fingers stopped at the aged spine of The Neverending Story, and he carefully pulled it out. It was a first edition, gorgeous and winding calligraphied letters separating each chapter. 

Max came up behind him and took the book out of his hands. “Were you here for a discussion on books?” He said, quietly. His breath smelled of the oakiness of whiskey, and Ash had a sudden, unbearable urge to kiss him.

“Look,” Ash said. “I’m sorry if I pressured you. I didn’t know…” he motioned around him, looking for the right turn of phrase. There was something unsteady in his legs, something bubbling in his chest and he found himself unsure, without his usual boyish swagger. “If you want me to go, I can go,” he said.

Max turned Ash to look at him, his hands heavy on Ash’s forearms. “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Max admitted, but he didn’t let go.

Ash waited for a moment, let the scent of their breaths combine, watched, the beat of Max’s pulse throb at his throat. Then, he lifted his head, rose up on the balls of his feet, and let their lips connect.

Ash reached up and coiled his fingers through Max’s short hair, drawing his head even further, chasing that taste of whiskey from the bar. His mouth was so warm, so inviting, and Ash was already hard against Max’s leg when he finally pulled away. “Bedroom,” he panted.

Max nodded his head towards the hallway, and Ash grabbed at his arm, pulling him there, swinging open the plywood door and moving towards the bed. They were wrapped together again, hands fumbling at clothes, at belt buckles, at zippers. Ash rucked up Max’s shirt and let his hands trail against the hardness of muscle there, the softness of golden hair at his chest. He paused to pull of his own t-shirt, then he bent down to lick at Max’s neck, to lick at his nipples, to feel his heartbeat against his tongue. 

Max moaned then, and they kicked off their pants, their briefs, theirs socks. Then, Ash pushed him backward onto the bed, crawling on top of him and pressing his cock against Max’s. They were both impossibly hard already, and Ash leaned over Max, letting his tongue trail back up his neck and meeting his mouth for an even deeper kiss. 

“Jesus Christ,” Max panted against Ash’s cheek. He reached down and closed his hand around both their cocks, pulling slightly.

The friction between soft skin left Ash gasping. “Fuck, Max. I…” His arms were already trembling, his breath was coming in heaving gasps. “I need to fuck you. I need to fuck you right now.”

“Yes,” Max breathed, and he sat up, meeting Ash for another kiss, sliding a hand up to cradle the back of his neck. “Yes,” he breathed again, this time eyes closed. He moved under Ash, reaching for the bedside table, and came up with a bottle which he pushed into Ash’s hands.

“Oh, shit,” Ash moaned, scrambling off Max’s lap and letting him turn over. “Oh fuck…Professor…”

Max curled his knees up under him and propped himself up on his elbows, breathing heavily. “Fuck me, Ash. Fucking make me come, Jesus Christ, make me come so hard…”

His voice trailed off as he bit into the comforter, and Ash slid up behind him, stroking his broad back, running his fingers down Max’s spine, to the crease of his ass. He pressed his fingers there for a moment, following with his tongue, licking and tasting all the way to Max’s balls.

Max whined underneath him, a sound that was damped by blankets, but it went straight to Ash’s groin. He was so impossibly hard. “Fuck,” he murmured against Max’s skin. 

He spread Max open and pushed at his hole with his tongue, swirling and licking upward.

“Christ, Ash,” Max moaned underneath him. “Please, fuck me. Please, Ash, please—”

“Hold on, Professor,” Ash interrupted. The honorific was horrifyingly indecent on his tongue, and a warm wash of heat pooled once more at his groin. He let his middle finger tap at Max’s hole, watched as is fluttered and trembled. Then he pushed in, felt the deep heat. “Oh my god, Max,” he moaned. He stroked himself with his free hand just once, and bit down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming at how sensitive his cock was. 

“Ash…Ash…Please,” Max cried, trembling against him. He was rocking back on Ash’s finger now, so desperate for contact. He moved to stroke his own cock, but Ash grabbed his hand before he could get that far.

“You’ll come when I tell you to come,” he whispered at Max’s ear.

“Oh…fuck…” Max moaned. 

His voice was already shaking, already wrecked with need. Ash flicked open the cap with his free hand, and poured it over his fingers, then he pushed a second in, stretching him further, and then a third. He tossed the lube to the side of the bed, then bent over Max. “You ready?” He licked along the shell of Max’s ear, thrilled at the full body shudder Max gave.

“Please,” Max moaned. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Ash whispered.

“Jesus Christ, fuck me. Ash fuck me, fuck me…please…fuck me.”

Ash laughed, then lined up at Max’s hole and pushed in. He was painfully slow about it, letting the stretch of Max slowly envelop him, swallow him. “Oh my God,” Ash moaned. “Oh my god, you’re so tight, oh shit—”

He jerked forward, burying himself completely, and Max cried out with pleasure. Then Ash began to rock back and forth, slowly at first, then quicker and quicker. “Oh fuck, Professor” he said, then, “Professor,Professor, Professor…” he reached around and began to stroke Max’s beautifully erect cock.

“Fuck, Ash, I’m gonna come,” Max whimpered.

Ash squeezed at the base of his dick and Max cried out. “No,” Ash said. “I’ll tell you when you can come.” 

He was getting close now. The smell of Max and the feel of Max and the sight of Max moaning underneath him was too much. He let his thumb slide up to the tip of Max’s cock, dipping it in precome and smearing it all around his thick cock. Then he started pulling faster and faster, circling and pulling, while he pumped against Max again and again and again and—

“Oh I’m gonna fucking come,” Ash groaned, and then “Come for me, Max. Fucking come.”

He felt his release explode through him, deep inside of Max and at the same time, Max shuddered against him. Max was whimpering underneath Ash and he just kept coming, milky white covering Ash’s fingers, spilling wet and hot onto the bed. 

“Oh fuck,” Max mumbled, his hands fisting the comforter. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Fuck, you’re a good lay,” Ash moaned. His cock slid out of Max with a wet pop, and thick liquid began to trickle from Max’s hole. They collapsed on the bed then, Ash rolling to the side and Max face down, chest and hands smeared with come. Ash reached across him and took one of Max’s hands—brought it back up to his lips. “I want to clean you,” he whispered. His cheeks flushed with it and his ears grew hot. This was more indecent than anything he’d done before and yet he was desperate to taste Max on his tongue.

“Oh my God,” Max murmured.

Ash swallowed his fingers, one by one, licking them clean. Then he bent forward one more time and pressed his lips against Max’s mouth. 

“You taste incredible,” he whispered as he pulled away. 

“Fuck,” Max groaned. He was limp against the bed now, an immovable giant, a sleep sodden wolf. 

“Fucking good lay, Professor,” Ash said again. 

He curled up against Max’s back, letting the shuddering sighs lure him into a hazy dreams cape; sticky, and hot, and blooming with possibility. 

 


End file.
